


restraint resistance release

by sophiahelix



Series: Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit As Lube, Tumblr Prompt, Victor’s couch is too small
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: “I've never asked you to wear the jinbei in bed,” Victor says, plaintively.Yuuri lifts his head, eyes still sparkling. “True,” he says. “You never leave it on me long enough.”





	restraint resistance release

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to pearl-o for the following prompt: “a kiss because I have literally been watching you all night and I can’t take anymore.”

Victor has grown to love Yurio dearly, but at this exact moment he hates him more than anyone else on earth.

It's sweet, really, that Yurio’s relaxed enough now to come to them with his problems. Not for advice so much as venting his frustration at the top of his voice, but typically Victor exchanges smiles with Yuuri and encourages him to go on. Victor remembers this, the bumps and growing pains of early years on the senior circuit, and he's usually sympathetic to Yurio’s feelings even if he has to hide a smile when his back is turned. 

Right now he could cheerfully toss Yurio from his eighth floor balcony, because it's almost ten o'clock at night and he's _still talking_.

Yuuri, damn him, is encouraging him. Yuuri, who got out of the shower over an hour ago, wearing just the short green robe Victor begged him to bring from Japan, with his hair damp and curling and a certain look in his eye. Yuuri, whose ass Victor was feeling up when the knock came on the door — pounding, really — and who still had the damnable composure to break away from their kiss and say, “It's probably Yurio come to complain about his choreography again.”

Yurio had come to complain about his choreography, his costume, his music, his skate boots, and something about his usual bus line Victor didn't quite follow. Thoroughly, in depth, at top volume and at such length that Victor has looked meaningfully at the clock no less than five times, to no avail. Yurio is just taking a breath, red-faced, ready to launch into something new when Victor finally snaps.

“Well!” he says, brightly and a little desperately, and claps his hands together as he rises. “You've certainly given us a lot to think about. I'm very sorry about your music, and your bus, but it's getting late and we’ll have to continue this _fascinating_ discussion tomorrow, won't we Yuuri?”

Yurio pauses, mouth open, and glances between them. “Do you guys have somewhere to be?”

“Bed!” Victor says, firmly, meaning everything in the world by it. “As do you. Growing boys, et cetera et cetera.”

He crosses the room to take Yurio by the shoulder, helping him rise. Beyond, sitting on the other end of the couch, he sees Yuuri break into silent laughter. Yurio is still muttering as he goes to the door, and he stops on the threshold and turns, looking between the two of them with a scowl.

“Mila owes me a thousand rubles,” he says.

“Why?” Victor asks, with more than a tinge of impatience.

“She bet me you were the one who wore the jinbei in bed,” Yuri says, meaningfully, and then stomps out the door.

Victor looks back to where Yuuri is laughing aloud now. He's reclining in the corner of the couch, arms resting behind him, legs crossed under his short robe and his head tipped back, and his laugh is joyful and genuine. Victor suspects him of encouraging Yurio for the last half hour just to wind him up.

“I've never asked you to wear the jinbei in bed,” Victor says, plaintively.

Yuuri lifts his head, eyes still sparkling. “True,” he says. “You never leave it on me long enough.”

They look at each other for a long moment, tension mounting. Victor's gaze sweeps over Yuuri’s body, able to stare outright now where he was sneaking furtive glances before. The way the robe is open over his throat and chest, dipping low in the back. The way the hem just brushes his knees, parting dangerously over one crossed thigh. His powerful calves and his delicate wrists, just slipping out of the wide sleeves.

“Well?” Yuuri asks.

Victor slides the chain lock on the door and goes to him. He crosses the room with three smooth, determined steps, still staring at Yuuri like a predator. No — Yuuri's the predator and he's the prey, drawn inexorably in. Victor throws himself forward, one knee on the couch, and takes Yuuri's face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him hard. 

Yuuri’s smiling at first, and then he's not, letting out a soft, satisfied noise and kissing back as good as he gets. His hands are tight on Victor’s waist, and then he shifts, pushing and pulling until Victor’s sitting on the couch with Yuuri kneeling on his lap.

“ _God_ ,” Victor whimpers, kissing him furiously. Yuuri's thighs squeeze his hips, and Yuuri slides his fingers into the silky hair at the back of Victor’s head, tangling and pulling hard. Victor knows Yuuri's bare beneath his robe and he can't help rocking up, grinding against him, as they keep kissing wild and hungry, all the pent-up hour of desire between them.

“Victor, Victor,” Yuuri sighs, rocking down.

Victor gets a hand free and fumbles for the waistband of his own track pants, a recent sartorial concession to a life in which he might have sex at any moment. They're comfortable, and it's worth it, when Yuuri might surprise him in the kitchen or on this very couch. Everything has changed in the last year.

He lifts his hips, dragging the pants down to his thighs along with his briefs, and then reaches for his growing erection. Yuuri is kissing his neck now, biting delicately but not particularly softly, and he moans against Victor's skin when Victor gathers them both in hand.

“Mm, yes,” he murmurs, and sucks hard right under Victor's ear.

The stinging pain makes Victor gasp as he squeezes them tight together, stroking until they're both hard and straining, too much for one hand. He releases his grip on the back of Yuuri's neck, reaching down to use both hands, when Yuuri surprises him by lifting up more on his knees, pulling away from Victor’s grasp.

Yuuri cups Victor’s face with one hand and kisses him again, bracing himself on the back of the couch. He shifts his hips, circling, and Victor lets out a soft moan against his mouth when Yuuri rubs right against him, bare and hot.

“Should we go in the bedroom, solnishko?” Victor whispers. He pumps himself with one hand, reaching up to hook beneath Yuuri's shoulder with the other.

Yuuri doesn't answer. He keeps moving his hips, sliding back and forth deliberately, teasing Victor with what he wants. Victor's leaking and it's slick but not enough, though he can't help twitching his hips up every now and then. They keep kissing, slower now, mouths closed and lips soft, focused and concentrated like they're each waiting for something. Victor's heart beats faster.

He groans when Yuuri rubs against him again more firmly, moving down. He slips in a little, working into that tight heat, and then Yuuri shifts back up.

“Please,” Yuuri whispers. He kisses Victor again, sweetly. “Right here. Like this.”

Victor gasps, digging his fingers into Yuuri's shoulder. “Are you — how — ”

Yuuri does it again, bearing down more this time. Victor's wetter now, his foreskin starting to slide back, and he goes deeper than before. Yuuri's so _tight_. Victor can't hold back a moan, or stop himself from rocking up into it, holding his cock steady to push in.

“Let me,” Yuuri says, tight and breathless. He kisses Victor hard, mouth moving against his as he rocks his hips. Victor kisses back, heart hammering desperately, and he can feel all the power and tension of Yuuri’s body, making this work.

It isn't really, though; Yuuri's too tight, not wet enough. Finally he curses and lifts up again. He looks down at Victor for a moment and then takes his hand off the back of the couch, pushing two fingers into his own mouth. He sucks long and messily, slurping around them, watching Victor the whole time through lowered eyelids. 

Victor can't look away, panting as he watches. He breathes even harder when Yuuri finally takes his fingers out of his mouth, slick and shining, and reaches around to push them into himself with a groan. Yuuri's face is incredible, eyes falling shut and his mouth open, even pinker than his cheeks. A lock of fine dark hair falls over his forehead as he moves, fucking himself on his hand, and Victor's desperate to be inside him but he wants to watch this too, Yuuri opening up.

“Beautiful,” Victor murmurs in Russian, reaching up to stroke Yuuri's back.

Yuuri makes a soft sound in response and pulls his fingers out, bracing his hand back on the couch. He opens his eyes, and his face is so fierce and determined as he kisses Victor again, lowering himself down.

It's enough now, just barely. Victor moans into Yuuri's mouth as he slips into that tight, _tight_ heat, bit by slippery bit. Yuuri’s breathing so hard he's gasping, thighs trembling, and he moans too, when Victor meets resistance deeper inside, where Yuuri’s fingers didn't reach.

“Wait,” Yuuri gasps, squeezing the back of Victor's neck. He pants hard, adjusting.

Victor's in deep enough he doesn't have to hold himself steady anymore, and he brings his hand up to his mouth, turning his head away. He spits into his palm, the sound loud and shockingly coarse, and then reaches down to rub himself slick with it. Yuuri groans in his ear and moves again, taking Victor in more, until he’s finally, fully inside.

Their kissing is frantic now, wet and messy as they gasp into each other's mouths. Yuuri pulls Victor’s hair, squeezing so tight around him, rhythmically, and Victor keeps pulsing his hips up, just a little, like he can’t believe he’s really in. He feels so hot all over, still almost totally dressed, and he fumbles for the tie of Yuuri’s robe, yanking it open so he can touch him, running the flat of his hand down Yuuri’s chest and belly to wrap around his cock.

Yuuri lets out a soft cry, his head falling back. Victor kisses passionately over his throat, not careful with his teeth. He brings his other hand down to cup Yuuri’s rounded ass, fingers exploring lower, touching the hot place where they’re joined and Yuuri is stretched so tight. Victor turns away to put his finger in his mouth for a moment, then returns to spread the wetness around, easing the stretch as he strokes Yuuri with his other hand.

“ _Victor_ ,” Yuuri groans, and Victor can hear the desperation in his voice.

“Let me fuck you,” Victor begs, kissing his neck, and Yuuri nods, frantic.

Victor takes a breath and then pushes off the couch to stand straight up, with Yuuri wrapped around him, thighs clasped around his waist. He doesn’t go far, just turning to lay Yuuri back on the couch, crashing down on top of him. Yuuri lets out a moan, bringing up his legs, kissing Victor between gasped breaths as Victor shifts to his knees. _Stupid_ tiny couch, Victor thinks, like every time they do it here; the wooden legs screeching against the floor and no room as he tries to get into position.

He pulls out and Yuuri protests, reaching for his shoulders. Victor spits into his hand, heedless now of the sound, and rubs it over Yuuri, then does it again, rubbing himself slicker. It’s still rough when he pushes back in, but Yuuri’s arms are tight around him and they both moan as he begins to rock in and out.

“Like that,” Yuuri breathes. “Faster, _harder_.”

Sometimes Victor thinks there’s no _faster_ or _harder_ enough for Yuuri. He wants everything, hungry for the world, and Victor wants to give it to him.

He does, now, fucking him until the couch creaks with it, shifting on the wooden floor alarmingly. Yuuri’s loud and he gets louder, one hand slipping from Victor’s shoulders to stroke himself along with Victor’s thrusts. Victor drops his forehead against Yuuri’s and they breathe hard together, a pounding pulse between them as Victor races the limits of physics, meeting more resistance now. Yuuri goes tense fast, knees digging into Victor’s sides as he jacks himself furiously, and then comes with a shout, dripping over his own hand and belly.

Victor stops then, shifting to one arm, and Yuuri lets out a shaky gasp as Victor reaches down and swipes his other hand through the mess. He coats his fingers, then pulls out a little, wincing at the rough drag, and slicks himself back up again.

“Oh, yes,” Yuuri moans, eyes falling shut.

This is better; smoother and thicker, letting him move more easily. Victor loves fucking Yuuri after he’s come, the way his whole body trembles, his chest and face so flushed. Yuuri’s eyes are closed, thick lashes on his cheeks, and he’s still panting, arms around Victor’s neck. He opens his eyes when Victor moves faster, and smiles a little, small and secret.

“I love you when you can’t wait,” he says, breathless and fond.

Victor opens his mouth to protest — _Yuuri’s_ the one who asked for this, couldn’t even make it to the bedroom — but the pleasure is rippling out now, taking over his body. He moans again, leaning down to kiss Yuuri, and moves faster, gasping against his mouth and slowing to short, quick, shuddering thrusts as he comes.

There’s nowhere to go afterwards. The couch is too small. Victor lies where he is, panting into Yuuri’s hot neck, knees still pulled up under himself as Yuuri strokes over his back and kisses his shoulder.

“Whose idea was it to keep this couch,” Victor grumbles at last.

Yuuri snorts. He’s been lobbying for a new one since he moved in. Victor sees his point, but the lines and color of this one match the cool nautical tones of the flat _so_ well.

Maybe he could be convinced to make a change now, but Victor really isn’t thinking about home decor as he finally pulls out and sits on the far cushion, groaning as his stiff knees unfold. Yuuri stretches out his legs as far as he can, resting his feet on Victor’s lap, and Victor turns to regard him.

Yuuri’s lying there, still flushed and smiling, one arm flung above his head and unbearably smug. Victor can’t help smiling back.

“You kept him talking,” he says, accusing.

“Maybe,” Yuuri says, smiling wider. He arches his back, stretching. “Last week you kept texting me dirty things all through dinner.”

Victor rolls his shoulders, nodding wryly. “True.”

Yuuri lets one knee fall against Victor’s chest, caressing him with it. Victor’s still wearing his shirt, and, absurdly, his pants and briefs pushed down to his knees. He doesn’t really care.

“What was that you said about the bedroom earlier,” Yuuri says, low, his gaze meaningful. Victor laughs, and lets out a sigh as he turns to carry Yuuri to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: sophia-helix


End file.
